


The Rubber Band

by cherishedlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, But Louis isn't all that perfect either, Cutting, Depressed Harry, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Harry, Triggers, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis saves him, this is really depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishedlarry/pseuds/cherishedlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is so much pain. So much pain that Harry feels inside him. So much pain that Harry needs to make physical before he loses his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rubber Band

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is or where it came from. I would tell you to enjoy but that seems kind of twisted. Just read it. And know that I'm sorry.

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

Don’t give in.

_Snap. Snap._

Harry, stop.

_Snap._

Enough.

There is so much pain. So much pain that Harry feels inside him. So much pain that Harry needs to make physical before he loses his mind.

Electricity. A low buzz throughout his body. His fingers are itching, his skin burning.

He’s weak. So, so weak. No matter what anyone says, he is pathetic. And so, so fragile.

Louis gave him the rubber band about a month ago. Louis had read somewhere that it helps people like Harry. But he hadn’t worn it much. Didn’t think he needed it. Thought that Louis was just being paranoid and overprotective. But, now, Harry’s thankful the band is firmly around his wrist. Because, if it hadn’t been, he’s not sure he would feel safe in his own body.

Because they sent him away again. Sent his sanity off on another “date”. He’s not entirely sure where this time. Harry never likes to know the details. Doesn’t like having an image in his head of what the two of them are doing. It only makes it worse. And Harry doesn’t need something else to make his life miserable. Just knowing Louis is off with her, holding her hand, hugging her, and maybe even kissing her is enough to make his stomach turn. That, and his nerves burn.

Harry doesn’t like being alone. That’s when he feels the worst. Technically, he can call one of the other boys or maybe even his mom to distract him from his pain. But he doesn’t want to thrust his problems onto them. It just isn’t worth it. Harry has always been the suffer in silence type and he isn’t about to let anyone in at this point.

The only person he allows in is the boy that was taken from him this morning. And he’s not entirely sure when he’ll be returning. Harry hopes it’s soon. Because he’s not sure how much longer he can keep it together. Not sure how long it’ll take the rubber band to stop stimulating his senses.

He knows where Louis keeps the razors. Or, more appropriately, where he hides them. Because, at this point, Harry can’t be trusted with them. They can’t keep them out in the open anymore. They learned that the hard way before Louis gave him the rubber band.

Harry doesn’t really know what made him feel quite so low that night. All he remembers is a blade and blood. Lots and lots of blood. He remembers laying on the bathroom floor, the world fuzzy and slowly darkening around him. He remembers a banging on the locked door. He remembers waking up in a hospital bed with mounds and mounds of gauze wrapped around both his wrists. But, most of all, he remembers how much Louis cried. He remembers the bloodshot eyes and the wails and the pleas. And he remembers Louis’ gentle touch and comforting words. And, on the second day of being in the hospital, Louis giving him the rubber band. He told him that, if he ever felt like he needed to do it again, he just needed to snap the band against his wrist to stop himself.

And that’s exactly what Harry’s doing right now. But it’s just not working. Nothing’s working. And Harry’s getting really, really scared.

He’s tried basically everything he can think of to distract himself. He tried watching TV but he just couldn’t focus. He tried making himself dinner but he got distracted and ended up burning it. He tried going on Twitter but, as soon as he clicked on his notifications, all he saw was hate.

Harry usually can handle the hate. He’s learned how to ignore it and not let it get to him. But today is different. Today Harry can’t get it out of his mind. And that’s only making everything worse.

So he’s simply resorted to lying in bed and snapping the rubber band against his wrist.

Over and over.

 _Snap_. _Snap_.

He just can’t stop.

He’s too weak. Far too weak.

That’s it.

He can’t do this anymore.

He needs a release. The feelings of self-loathing and despondency are searing his skin. He needs to get them out of there. Needs to set them free.

He gets up from the bed, tearing the rubber band off his wrist and throwing it onto the duvet. He makes his way to the closet where he knows Louis hid them. He stretches up onto his tiptoes (and, really, how did Louis manage to get the box up here) and grabs the familiar cardboard. He throws it onto the bed, tearing the lid off and grabs one of them. He stumbles in the direction of the bathroom, flicking on the light switch. Sometimes he prefers to do it in the dark but, today, he wants to see it. Wants to see the hatred leave his body in long, red streaks. 

Harry has never been able to quite remember the process of cutting. He just kind of... does it. He falls into a sort of trance, mind blank and not registering. 

Everything is blurry. He can't focus. Can't bring himself back to earth. 

All he sees is red. Streaming. Flowing. Dripping.

All he feels is red. Anger. Sadness. Guilt.

All he feels is a pair of hands. Hands that have a firm grip on his shoulders.

He can barely make out a voice, asking him to stop, trying to break through his haze. 

It works. Somehow, it works.

He immediately halts to find his whole body shaking, sweat beading on his forehead. And he still feels a pair of hands. 

"Harry. Harry please," the voice whispers in his ear. He drops the razor then, blinking furiously to try and figure out what's happening. 

His sight eventually focuses and all he sees is blue. Bright blue eyes staring back at him with hurt. Hurt that Harry knows he's the cause of.

"Louis," he whispers, voice nothing more than a small croak. 

Louis falls forward, engulfing Harry in a massive embrace. Harry can hear him whispering, "You're back. You're back. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. I'm here now. It's ok. I love you. I love you. I love you so much."

He lets his body melt into Louis, the familiar feeling of the boy bringing him instant comfort. 

Louis pulls back then, looking into Harry's slightly unfocused gaze, tears falling from pools of blue. 

 _No_. Louis isn't supposed to be crying.

Sadness is Harry's job. That's what he's good at. 

Louis is happiness personified. He's joy and life and adventure. He's sunshine and brightness. He's sanity and bravery. He's everything Harry is missing.

Louis manages to get Harry off the floor, cleans him up and leads him back towards the bedroom. He makes him get into bed, plopping his own body down beside him. Harry is pulled into Louis then, head against chest. Louis lets the boy listen to his heartbeat. Knows that the even thrum will make Harry relax. Will make him breathe again. 

Louis cries as Harry slowly falls asleep. 

Once Harry's breath evens out, Louis reaches for his own wrist. His own rubber band.

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts can be submitted either in the comments below or on my Tumblr (realizedyouweremissing)
> 
> And be sure to follow me on Twitter (@cherishedlarry) to keep up with all my daily shenanigans.


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